


Now Kiss

by Atisenia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Potterlock, Tumblr: letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The enchanted mistletoe at Hogwarts is strangely persistent. When it clings to you, it stays until you make it go away.<br/>It finds Sherlock rather a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock's [ Challenge 17](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/102320257160/the-votes-are-in-and-you-all-have-chosen-for-lets). I planned to write a different fic for this challenge (I still might, we'll see), but then I had this idea of Sherlock at war with enchanted mistletoe and I couldn't resist. ;)  
> Merry Christmas everybody! Or, in any case, Happy Hollidays! :)

Sherlock hated Christmas.

It didn't matter if he spent it at home or at Hogwarts. They weren't that different after all. Except that in Hogwarts, there was John and they still hadn't quite managed to discover all the secrets of the castle. And they could practise advanced charms and break into empty classrooms, and...

Well, maybe Christmas at Hogwarts wasn't the same as at home _at all_.

Apart from the decorations. And Sherlock was absolutely, positively sure that he hated those. The holly and ivy were tolerable, if pointless, but the floating lights, enchanted cards singing carols and little clouds leaving snow in their wake were a little too much.

And then there was the wretched mistletoe. That nightmare might just be the entire reason why Sherlock hated Christmas.

He didn't know who came up with the brilliant idea to take the parasitic nature of the plant a little too seriously. And he'd done his research. No source he could identify so much as mentioned the spell, let alone the name of the wizard who invented it. Sherlock wouldn't be surprised if that particular enchantment was a direct result of the wizards’ collective idiocy.

Whatever the reason, there were dozens of mistletoe sprigs hiding in the castle, waiting to cling to some poor, unsuspecting student. And when a sprig chose its victim, it went with them everywhere, just like a true parasite.

There was no way to get rid of it. No spell seemed to work, and not even Muggle tools of destruction could annihilate the bane of Sherlock's existence.

There was one and only one way for the mistletoe to go away and, yes, it involved kissing.

So far, at the beginning of his sixth Christmas period at Hogwarts, Sherlock had been subjected to the mistletoe magic every bloody year. Repeatedly. A major part of his experiments involved devising even more creative ways of destroying the mistletoe. So far, they all proved unsatisfying.

Sherlock knew he was one of the few students who had a problem with the parasite attacks. Most of them even sought the mistletoe and then used it as an excuse to get kissed. Sherlock would happily transfer all his mistletoe privileges to those idiots, if it only worked that way.

(And yes, he tried. He tried _everything_.)

Some students, like bloody Mycroft, spent their time in Hogwarts — all seven years of it — without falling victim to the mistletoe conspiracy even once. But somehow it always, always found Sherlock.

He tried ignoring it once, thinking that maybe it would get bored if he didn't pay it proper attention. But no, it just grew sadder, for Merlin's sake, and even travelled with him back to London where his parents waited for him on the platform. Fat, stupid Mycroft waited with them and he smiled in that condescending way as soon as he saw Sherlock and the green-yellow bundle of evil hanging over him. Sherlock vowed to hex him for it as soon as he would be permitted to use magic outside of school (or earlier, if he could find a way to get away with it).

And then Sherlock's mother _cooed_ at him, of all things, and kissed him on the forehead, which sent away the hated mistletoe but left him with a feeling of mortification in its place.

He refused to come home for Christmas since then.

Now he mostly ignored the mistletoe until it started to seriously annoy him (which usually happened the next day). After that, he went in search of someone who would agree to kiss him on the cheek without having unrealistic expectations about the nature of their relationship. Only this year he’d already been kissed by Janine (with a lot of bragging), got a quick, nervous peck from Molly who then turned to snog Lestrade senseless, even though _he_ had no mistletoe hanging over his head. Even Irene got an opportunity to throw pointless innuendo at him before she kissed him on the neck, of all places, leaving a nasty bruise there (John stared at him in shock when he noticed it).

And it wasn't even Christmas Day yet.

So, given all that impressive previous experience at being the mistletoe's victim, Sherlock wasn't really surprised when he noticed another sprig floating in his direction. Annoyed, yes. Frustrated, definitely. But not even a tiny bit surprised.

Sherlock was on his way down from the Ravenclaw Tower to meet with John. They were going to investigate the strange footsteps Sherlock had noticed in the snow the previous day, and Sherlock was _not_ putting that on hold to go and find someone to kiss. He would just have to hope the stupid parasite wouldn't get in the way.

"Hey!" John called from the Entrance Hall, bundled in the coat Sherlock enchanted for him to keep more warmth. He didn't have his scarf on though.

"If you catch a cold, don't blame it on me," Sherlock told him, a smile already on his face.

John took a good look at him and snorted.

" _Again_?" he asked, pointing at the mistletoe. "How did you manage that?"

"The same way as always, I'm afraid," Sherlock said, adjusting his scarf. "There isn't even anything interesting about it," he complained.

"Not as much as mutant footsteps in the snow, right?" John asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Yes," Sherlock said and smiled. "Let's go."

Here's the thing about John Watson: he always went along with Sherlock's plans, but he also had ideas of his own. Which was why they soon abandoned the footsteps (it was just an injured dog; how disappointing) to try and throw snowballs at Sherlock's mistletoe. John's aim was impeccable and he managed to hit the wretched thing practically every time, before it managed to fly out of his reach. The mistletoe always came back though.

After another successful hit, Sherlock turned to smile at John.

And got hit with a snowball right into his face.

"Oops," John said innocently and hid a grin behind his red hand. No gloves. Of course.

Sherlock scowled at him. John never missed like that. Which meant he did it on purpose. Which meant war.

Not that Sherlock would ever consider participating in something as childish and pedestrian as a snowball fight, of course. But he also wasn't going to let John have his way.

So, obviously, he needed to retaliate.

Another snowball to his shoulder strengthened his resolve and he gathered enough snow to form the ball of perfect form and weight. He threw it, calculating the trajectory of its flight in his head.

And hit John in the leg.

He frowned. The ball was supposed to hit John in the—

More snow hit Sherlock's cheekbone and he swept it away with frustration.

—face. He needed to aim for John's face.

John wasn't going to stand there and watch, though, and so Sherlock found himself — somehow, despite himself — in the middle of a snowball fight.

"You can't hide long in the snow!" he yelled at some point, when John disappeared from his view. He had a snowball in each hand, a scowl on his face and enough snow to make drinks for a week everywhere on his body.

Then John jumped from somewhere on his left and sent Sherlock sprawling to the ground.

"Wasn't going to," John said and rubbed Sherlock's cheeks and nose with snow.

Sherlock sputtered and rolled them over, which apparently turned the snowball fight into a wrestling match in the snow.

Finally, they just lay side by side and looked up at the fairies lighting up the Astronomy Tower.

"You know," John started, with hesitation. Sherlock looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I've done some research too. About the mistletoe, I mean..."

"Yes...?" Sherlock prompted when John didn't elaborate.

"Well, it seems... it seems that the mistletoe is more likely to cling to someone if that someone is... in love."

He looked briefly at Sherlock and quickly averted his eyes.

"Ah," Sherlock sighed, torn between panic and resignation. So this was it. His secret was about to be revealed and John wouldn't want to be his friend anymore. Just as he'd always feared.

Sherlock knew about the mistletoe's particular... tendencies. Of course he did; his research was thorough. And he'd known for years that he was... that John was the reason Sherlock was a constant target of the mistletoe's attacks.

And now John knew, too.

"Is it... is that why the mistletoe clings to you so much?" John asked quietly, cautiously.

"I— it might— yes," Sherlock stuttered and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see John's face during the inevitable rejection.

"You're in love?" John asked incredulously. There was something controlled about his voice that Sherlock couldn't decipher. "With who?"

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he looked at John in shock.

"You... don't know?" he asked.

"Oh, so it's that obvious? Is it Irene? It's Irene, isn't it? That makes sense. She's... and you..."

Sherlock snorted.

"I'm not in love with Irene Adler. Are you joking?"

"It makes sense," John insisted but his lips twitched slightly as if he tried to contain a smile.

"It really doesn't," Sherlock said. Why exactly was he sabotaging himself now? He could just agree with John's inane ideas and his secret would be safe.

"It's not Molly, is it?" John asked, suddenly concerned.

"No, John, really..."

"Mm..."

They lay there in the snow in companionable silence that somehow managed not to turn awkward even with this stupid topic of conversation. John looked up at the mistletoe and snorted.

"You know..." He cleared his throat. "I didn't exactly check the mistletoe facts on your behalf."

"What?" Sherlock looked sharply at him and John fidgeted with his coat.

"Well, this year... and the previous one too, actually, um... the mistletoe decided to cling to me, too. A lot, um... So I checked."

"Oh," Sherlock breathed while his stomach dropped. So not only was he going to be rejected, he was going to be left for some dull woman that somehow made John fall in love with her.

Except...

"But... you didn't have a girlfriend in... what? A year and a half? Were you hiding her? From me? And I didn't see you with a mistletoe that often."

"No," John agreed. "Because I always made sure to get rid of it before I came to see you. I was afraid you would know immediately and... that scared me."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, sitting up. "You didn't want me to know about the girl? But you never cared before!"

John looked at him with tired eyes and sat up with a sigh.

"It's not a girl, Sherlock," he said casually, as if he didn't just change Sherlock’s entire worldview.

"Oh, well, that's..." Sherlock started, not really sure what to say. He was so sure that John only liked girls and that it was the only reason why... why he didn't like Sherlock that way. "Who is it?"

John looked at him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes.

"You know what I also learned about the mistletoe?" he said instead of answering the question like a _normal person_. "If two sprigs of mistletoe start to circle each other—"

"The people under them are in love with each other, yes, your point?" Sherlock snapped.

John's smile grew and he raised his eyebrows.

"Look up."

Sherlock huffed, annoyed at this new diversion tactic of John’s, but looked up as John requested of him... And saw two sprigs of mistletoe practically dancing around each other above their heads.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh," John said and reached for Sherlock's hand. "We should get rid of them, what do you say?"

Sherlock's heart started beating rapidly in his chest and he thought he might explode with happiness.

"With pleasure," he said and leaned down to press his lips to John's.

 


End file.
